


food for thought (it might be poisoned)

by johnnysmitten



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnysmitten/pseuds/johnnysmitten
Summary: Tyler called in sick to work today.He wasn’t actually sick. He’d just eaten too much bread last night and felt like he was going to die. His stomach was fighting him, telling him that he shouldn’t have been so stupid. He’d eaten two slices of bread. Two too many. Today he would make up for that.





	food for thought (it might be poisoned)

**Author's Note:**

> this was a random thing I wrote for a different character, but I've been wanting to write an ED joshler fic, so I just took this old blurb and i'm gonna run with it and see what happens. hopefully something good? 
> 
> if talk of eating disorders, food, calories, exercise, or any other ED symptoms trigger you, do not read this! please stay safe, friends. you're all important and worthy of happiness, don't forget that. be kind to yourself.

* * *

Tyler called in sick to work today.

He wasn’t actually sick. He’d just eaten too much bread last night and felt like he was going to die. His stomach was fighting him, telling him that he shouldn’t have been so stupid. He’d eaten two slices of bread. Two too many. Today he would make up for that.

Tyler’s siblings were at school and his parents were at work, so he could fast without anyone questioning it. All he needed were his vitamins. They had zero calories and all the nutrients he really needed anyway. Tyler would be fine.

He woke up late, around ten a.m. and the first thing he did was get on the treadmill. He had to run at least two miles to burn off the bread. And another three miles to burn off the peanut butter. That fucking despicable peanut butter.

He stepped on the treadmill, increased the incline and speed, and started running. Tyler put on his headphones, trying to drown out his thoughts, trying not to think about how long he’d have to run for. He could never shut out the demon, though. That fucker was like a virus, using his body as a host. No amount of music could drown out the sound of its screams. The fucking calories were all he could think about. If Tyler ran six miles per hour, he could burn over a thousand calories. But could he really run that fast without passing out? He had three bottles of water with him. Might need more.

Of course he would need more. He had to drink at least 4-6 litres a day. That way he wouldn’t carry any water weight. His body would be hydrated and wouldn’t hold on to what little water it had. And no food. Tyler wouldn’t consume any calories until he lost a bit more weight. He calculated the number of hours in his head.

72.

He would go 72 hours without food.

That wasn’t so bad. Tyler had gone longer in the past and he’d been fine. Just lightheaded and fatigued, and nothing ever made any sense. But it was worth it. He felt like a literal beached whale right now.

He lasted exactly one hour and fourteen minutes on the treadmill. He didn’t run the entire time, he couldn’t. He was starting to feel dizzy, so he chugged the last of his water and went to lie on the floor so he could do leg raises. After doing one-hundred for each leg, he attempted to do squats, but his legs were too weak to support him. All Tyler did was fifteen pathetic squats. He’d never get rid of his fat ass.

His stomach grumbled, and he was sure if anyone else was around they would hear it. It was a deafening sound, like a train rolling in on the tracks, drawing everyone’s attention.

_Shut up, shut up, I don’t want to hear you. This water is all you’re going to get, so stop making noise._

He went upstairs to weigh himself. He couldn’t help it. He had to.

Tyler set the scale on the floor in the usual place he put it – the only place that told him the truth. Sometimes it liked to fuck with him and tell him he gained four pounds within an hour, but if he moved it to that one spot on the floor, the number would magically change. Tyler shed himself of every article of clothing, even the elastic band around his wrist, and stepped onto the scale.

This was either going to be good, or bad. It could make his day or break it.

100 lbs.

He smiled. It was a bigger smile than he’d had when he finally graduated high school, bigger than when he finally figured out that melody he’d been working on for weeks on his keyboard. That _100_ staring back at him made him happier than he’d been in what felt like ages.

Even after the bread and peanut butter, Tyler’s weight was less than it was yesterday. Normally he weighed himself first thing in the morning because it was usually more accurate then, or at least it showed him a number that he liked better than it did later in the day. But this morning he’d forgotten because he’d been so consumed with working out. And Tyler never, ever, _ever_ weighed himself after showering. The water probably seeped into his skin and made him weigh more. And of course, if he washed his hair then it would add even more weight.

Everything was okay today. The number was a good number, a number that kept the demon happy.

His stomach growled again.

Maybe Tyler could have some strawberries. If he had five, that would only be 20 calories. He could burn that off easily enough. But no.

_No. No. No._

He had to stick to the fast. The strawberries would ruin it.

Tyler sat down on his bed for a while after putting on some thick leggings and a sweater. He mentally calculated how many calories he would be allowed to consume when his fast ended, and the next day and the day after that.

200 on Thursday. 150 the next day. And maybe another fast the day after that.

When Tyler stood up, his vision blurred and everything went grey. It was sick, but the feeling of light-headedness was one that he loved. It meant he was doing a good job, he was successfully restricting and his body had nothing to consume but fat and muscle – things he wanted gone anyway. It was a rush, a high. Tyler felt good as he went down to the kitchen.

On the counter was the package of cupcakes his mom bought yesterday at some fancy bake shop. She’d picked up two for each of them. Zack had finished both of his, same with Jay. Maddy had half of one left. And his dad and his mom both had one of theirs.

Tyler’s were still untouched.

He wondered how many calories were in them. It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t eat them anyway. He just wanted to smell them. So, Tyler opened the box and inhaled the scent. God, they smelled delectable. No – they smelled disgusting. But to be sure…maybe he could just have a taste.

_No, you can’t. You’re not allowed. Do you want to be fat forever? You’re never going to be anything if you keep eating like a fucking pig. Have more self-control! All it will be is a few minutes of satisfaction followed by days of guilt. It isn’t worth it and you know it. Do. Not. Do. It._

“I don’t have to actually eat it,” Tyler said.

_The calories will be absorbed in your tongue. There’s no escaping them._

He needed to dispose of the cupcakes anyway, so why not at least taste them? This wasn’t cheating. Tyler wasn’t going to swallow anything, so it wouldn’t break his fast.

He picked the _cookies and cream_ cupcake out of the box and examined it, taking a deep breath. He was going to do this, and he felt like the worst person in the world.

Tyler hesitantly took a bite. And chewed.

Oh his god, it tasted so good. So, so so _sooooo good_. Like pure heaven. No, no, no. It tasted like hell. Like pure filth, like nothing a human should ever consume.

He grabbed a napkin and spit it out.

He did this over and over until he’d chewed and spit out the entire cupcake. Then Tyler balled up the napkin and threw it out. He wanted to cry.

_What if someone digs through the garbage?_

Right. He moved around the trash from deeper down in the bin, making sure to conceal his napkin of spit-up-cupcake. No one was allowed to find it.

_Bury it, like you bury your shame._

After minutes of anxiety-induced pacing around the kitchen, Tyler went back up to his room with his phone, opening Safari so he could do what he did every time he lost even the slightest amount of weight. He checked his BMI.

It asked for his height. 5 feet, 9 inches.

And his weight. 100lbs.

Then he pressed the _‘calculate’_ button.

Tyler grinned like he’d just won the lottery. To him, that’s what it felt like. He won the fucking BMI lottery. How pathetic. 14.8 was his new BMI. Tyler liked that it was no longer 15 point whatever. He liked the look of the 4. He felt a bit better about himself despite the way his head buzzed with dizziness.

He wanted to nap, but napping was the way people became obese. So Tyler found his old, worn jump rope and went out to the backyard.

He jumped rope for ten minutes. He’d timed it. Exactly ten minutes. Then Tyler looked up how many calories that burned. It took too long for him to find out the answer and there was math involved. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what he did yesterday, let alone be bothered to do actual calculations. It took too much brain power. So Tyler estimated. About 125 calories. That sounded right. Maybe even a bit too high. Yeah, probably too high.

Maybe he could have a bagel and a spoonful of peanut butter.

_You’re really going to think like that? Just because you exercised does NOT mean you get to eat more. Only a fat pig would try to justify it like that. Is that what you are? A fat pig? Yeah, you are. You know you are. Just look in the mirror. You’re a fucking hog. Huge. Massive. Disgusting._

Tyler knew the voice was right. It was always right and Tyler was always wrong, wrong, wrong. But he was starving and he was weak. All Tyler could do was go back to the kitchen and chug another bottle of water. He made a cup of green tea and chugged that, too. That was all he needed to keep the hunger at bay. And maybe a pack of sugar-free gum.

Looking online at pictures of skinny people raised his confidence and helped him believe that maybe he could fast for longer than just a mere 72 hours. Maybe he could do a few more days. 100 hours, perhaps. Or longer. As long as his parents didn’t start to pester him about eating with them at the table. Tyler could easily take his supper up to his room, pretend to eat it and just throw it away instead. He could lie to them and say that he was going to a friend’s house.

They wouldn’t believe it, though. Tyler had no friends. Not anymore. Not since his eating disorder decided that friends were unnecessary. Friends only got in the way. His siblings got in the way, and his parents’ suspicions were getting in the way.

Fuck them all for trying to tear him down with their stupid concerns.

 _Oh, Tyler, you need to eat something_ , his mother would say.

 _You can’t survive on just one measly piece of fruit a day_ , his father would say.

And then, _this is why you declined that basketball scholarship, this is why you haven’t accomplished your goals._

His siblings said nothing, but the looks in their eyes said it all.

They were all worried.

But Tyler wasn’t sick. He was fine. He felt great.

And just to prove it, he grabbed his running shoes and left the house, mind fogged over with dizziness, heart dancing frantically in his chest like a wounded bird trapped in a cage.

**Author's Note:**

> this ended abruptly and was mostly just description, but it'll have more human interaction in the next chapter(s). and josh will make his appearance.


End file.
